The Zone: Dmitri
by Rice Guy
Summary: The Zone is pretty crazy.  It's a One-Shot that I wrote to test myself.


_Never thought I'd see the day. Life in The Zone got better._

My name is Dmitri. _Just _Dmitri. I don't use last names. No one does after you enter The Zone. When you come here, you come to disappear. If you came here with any other thought, you're going to die. Sure you _can_ get rich. Of course, the second someone catches a whiff of your treasure, they kill you and take it.

Then, someone kills them and takes it. The cycle goes on like that, until it ends up in the hands of one of the factions, or the Military. Either way, lots of people will die. The only way to ensure that it won't happen is to blow the living Hell out of it. Of course, you'll die, but at least some other idiot won't get it.

However, today was different. I "found" a nice Pump-Action Shotgun on the ground next to me. Okay, it was "found" on a dead Military officer that I may or may not have killed. You kill to survive in The Zone, and these bastards were taking potshots at me anyway. I pumped a few rounds from my old AK into their skulls, took whatever I needed, and left. They'll know that a group of five is missing, but they won't send anyone. That's always the case.

_Friends are always nice. Especially when they have a really small chance of killing you._

I traveled until nightfall, where I took up camp next to a couple of Stalkers, one wearing a simple trench coat and the other a bulletproof vest. Karl and Finn, respectively; a German and an Englishman, again, respectively. As I walked up, they each put a hand on their guns, but quickly relaxed when I showed them I wasn't insane, irradiated, or just plain murderous.

Finn left England on several accounts of Grand Theft and one case of Robbery. Karl was on the run from a few less savory types. I simply told them I wasn't the most... _clean_... man in Russia, but they got the message.

They laughed when I told them the story of how I got my new gun and vest. Finn had recently escaped some mercenaries, while Karl fought off a pack of blind dogs. Finn also could play guitar; he was rather good. Of course, hobbies in The Zone are always a good idea- mainly because they keep you from going insane. I think that if I didn't take up field-stripping and cleaning my guns every night that I would've probably murdered everyone I've come across by now.

_Believe Rumors. The Zone is insane; a three-legged man strapped with bombs probably did pass through recently. _

These rumors of a "Marked One" are sprouting up everywhere. Every camp I hit has at least one story of how this guy helped them in some way. Took out a camp of bandits by himself, recovered a dying man from a huge cluster of anomalies without setting a single one off, even taking on a pack of mercs- and _winning_. Rumors are crazy. I believe every one of 'em.

_ Remember: Anomalies are not friendly._

I _hate _anomalies. A guy I once knew- his name was Christof- got ripped apart by a Whriligig. That wasn't pleasant; I was standing a few feet away from him at the time. Thrown up into the air so violently that he probably got whiplash, spun like a top, and finally ripped apart so brutally that most of his bones must've shattered. After I got the blood out of my jacket, I gathered up what was left (or at least what I could find) and buried him. I left a bottle of Vodka at his grave. He loved the stuff.

I heard a story of a group of Stalkers who ran through an old factory once. They were fleeing from a Bloodsucker, and one of the idiots blundered into a Burner. They swore the Bloodsucker stopped and looked right at the carnage (hard to believe since the damn things are invisible). He instantly burst into flames, and ran screaming through the building, until hitting a loose section of railing and tumbling down a chute; they say the rather loud and sickening crash he made at the bottom sent the beast away.

Ironically, he landed in a pool of water.

_Bullets aren't expensive; MedKits are._

A bullet grazed my shoulder recently. My aim was still pretty good, despite the pain. I used one of the few bandages I had to stop the bleeding during the crossfire, but resumed pumping lead into their bodies. Slugs are actually tough to find, but I was in the wilds; buckshot doesn't do crap unless you're right next to them. Besides, my new Chaser does leave a nice, gaping hole where their sternum used to be.

I stopped in town on a lucky day; the nearby (or far away, whatever is the actual truth) Military facility was raided. Supposedly, it was that "Marked One" guy, playing Terminator again. Some of the Stalkers from the camp mopped up whatever was left, and ransacked the place for anything of value. Bullets, bullets, and more bullets...

_ Here's to the future; I hope I don't die!_

When I first came here, the Military paid me no mind on entering- however, when I reconsidered a day later, they shot at me. That was about a year ago, and I haven't looked back since then. I've become a professional killer, and I'm actually proud of that. Never before did I not feel regretful of a death by my hand... even though I was jailed for killing three guys that I didn't know or care about. I guess that's what The Zone does. It makes a though guy into a tougher guy. Maybe I'll get out someday; maybe I'll turn these thoughts into a biography, or a guide; maybe I'll kill some, kill more, and then kill even more! Whatever happens, I know I'll have led an exciting life. All just part of life in The Zone.

I'll drink to that!


End file.
